But the Way of the Ungodly Shall Perish
by la-hija-de-Dios
Summary: A strange man shows up, bearing a striking resemblance to a certain Jon Baker. He claims to be Jon's father. However, is he really all that he seems? And what of the news that a wanted criminal has escaped from prison?
1. Chapter 1

_Okay, so I've had this in the works for a while. The name comes from Psalm 1:6, which I wil quote at the end of this author's note._ _The characters of Stan Gordon and Ryan belong to Ponchygirl. I'm just using them with her permission. "CHiPs" also does not belong to me. The glory goes to God! I hope you enjoy this story! :D I can't promise that I'll have the next chapter out soon, but I can promise that I will try. :)_

 _"For the Lord knoweth the way of the righteous: but the way of the ungodly shall perish." (Psalm 1:6)_

Two men stood in a dimly-lit alleyway. The taller of the two spoke lowly. "So, do you un'erstand, Slick? I don't want no mess ups, you hear?" His gravelly voice held a dangerous tone in it.

The shorter, Slick, nodded profusely. If there had been enough light, his partner might have seen the mischievous glint in his eyes or the smirk his lips formed. "Yeah, D. I hear you. He'll never know what hit him." He paused, turning to his companion. "What if he doesn't believe me? And what do I do with his partner?"

"Make him b'lieve you, Slick. If he doesn't, he'll rat you out to th' police. Try an'thing you need to to get him to trust you. As for his friend . . . Well, if he gives you any trouble, make it look like an accident."

Slick was quick with his answer. "Accident. Right!" He nodded happily.

D. put a hand on Slick's shoulder. "And remember, you're the boy's father!"

~-._.-*-._.-~

CHP Officer Jon Baker sat on his motorcycle, just enjoying the beautiful day. He was waiting for his partner, Frank Poncherello, to mount up and join him. He mused that, truly, it was a lovely day God had given them. A gentle breeze played with his blonde hair, but was not strong enough to make the man's attention focus solely on it. The sun on his back was making him feel a bit drowsy, which was never a good idea for a motorcycle policeman. His eyes, cerulean-blue in color, snapped to the right when he heard a sound. Just like that, all drowsiness had fled and had been replaced by an alertness that startled him. Why was he so on edge all of a sudden? He felt deep down in his stomach that something strange was going to happen that day. He shook his head as though he were trying to dispel the ominous thought.

A cheery voice snapped him out of it by saying, "Hi, partner!" The voice belonged to none other than his best friend.

"Hi, Ponch!" Jon returned the greeting. His partner's smile was infectious. Ponch could make practically anyone grin when he flashed his pearly whites. "It's 'bout time you showed up," Jon joked. It was true that most of the officers milling about after briefing had already gotten on their vehicles and left. One of the only others left was Barry Baricza, one of the men to ride in a cruiser and not a motorcycles.

Ponch smirked. "Well, Getraer wanted to ask me something about yesterday's run, but I had to wait for him to finish talking to Bear first." At five foot nine, Frank Poncherello cut quite the handsome figure. His olive skin and black hair clearly pointed to the fact that he was of Puerto Rican descent. He was built, but not overly so. His cheerfulness was usually contagious. He could also be quite funny at times. His accent could be thick or slight, depending on his mood. He had a bad habit of speaking without thinking sometimes, but made friends easily. He was fiercely loyal, too.

"Should I be worried about Getraer's question?" Jon laughed.

Ponch grinned, his bright white teeth making a startling contrast to his darker skin. "Nah. He wanted to make sure that you were all right after the spill you took on your bike. I told him you were fine." His brows furrowed after a moment. Cautiously, he asked, "You are all right . . . right, Jon?"

Jon had a deeply-rooted fear of hospitals. It wasn't so much being in a hospital as being a patient in a hospital. As a result, he would usually downplay any injuries he had. He knew Ponch was aware of this (In fact, he would do the same thing, but for a different reason.) and would worry for him if the Puerto Rican deemed it necessary. Jon waved his hand to dismiss his friend's worry. "Sure I'm all right. I'm just a bit sore . . . and maybe a bit bruised up." Glancing at his friend, he said, "I promise, Ponch. I'm fine."

Ponch seemed to visibly relax. "Oh, good! I'd hate for something to happen to you, Baker!"

The two each donned a pair of gloves, Jon's yellow and Ponch's black, and their helmets. With that, they set off to do their patrol.

~-._.-*-._.-~

Barry Baricza pulled his cruiser into the gas station. He had very little gas in his car's tank. As he got out to fill it up, he looked around. There was one more vehicle getting gas. It was a green Volkswagen Beetle owned by a little, old lady. Baricza smiled. She reminded him of his aunt. He soon had filled up his cruiser and was off. Almost immediately after driving back into the highway, he noticed something odd. A 1967 Mustang GT weaved back and forth through the lanes. Its bright crimson paint job easily stood out against the more common blues, grays, and browns of the other cars.

Bear turned on the siren and sped toward the car, calling the chase in. When he had pulled over the Mustang, he got out of his cruiser and walked over to its doors. He knocked and motioned for the driver to open his window.

The man complied. "Yes, sir?"

Bear said, "You were going ten miles an hour over the speed limit. May I see your driver's license and registration?" When those objects were handed to him, he looked them over. He wrote out a ticket. "Mr. Gordon, here's your ticket." He watched as Mr. Gordon regarded him with an sharp intensity in his cerulean-blue eyes. It was then that Bear noticed something familiar about those eyes. Someone he knew had eyes just that shade. Bear snapped out of it. I'm going to think of who it is later and wonder how I could not remember that earlier, he thought. He took the time to look over the man.

Mr. Gordon was a tall man, if the way he was curled up in the seat was any indication. His startling blue eyes were sharp and looked like they could both pierce through and look warmly at a person. The lack of laugh lines around his eyes proved that he was probably more serious than anything else. His blonde hair fell into his face and onto his collar, clearly stating that he needed a haircut. His blonde stubble gave him a rough look, like a homeless man or a man who cared nothing for his appearance. The most noticeable thing about him, with the exception of his eyes, was the build of the man. He looked to be stronger than the average Joe. His muscles were not bulky, but lean. He was lean and wiry, looking as though he could was a coil. If it were to be pushed down, it would spring to action.

Bear knew not to push him. In fact, he made to stand up, but stopped when he felt a hand on his arm.

"Um, I was wondering something. You're a CHP, aren't you?" He did not even wait for Bear to answer, which the officer should have found suspicious. "I have a relative in the CHP. Do you know a Jonathan?"

Bear stopped for a minute and pondered the question. "Well, there's a Jonathan Kingsley, but it couldn't be him because he's black. The only other person there is named something like that is Jon Baker. He has a motorcycle instead of a car."

Mr. Gordon nodded sagely. "That might be the one I'm looking for. I can't remember his last name, so I'm not quite sure. We haven't seen each other in a while." He took his arm off Bear. "Well, thank you. I'll be off now!" He drove off at a leisurely pace.

Baricza got in his car and thought nothing of it until lunch.


	2. Chapter 2

_Sorry this took so long and is so short! I've really got to get to bed, so I'm not going to write much on here. I don't own CHiPs. Oh, Stan Gordon and Ryan belong to Ponchy. The glory goes to God! :D Good night!_

"But the Way of the Ungodly Shall Perish"

Chapter 2

By lunchtime, Jon had almost completely shaken his dark thoughts. He and Ponch decided to eat at Del Taco. After they gone in and ordered, the two sat down at a table. Their food was still being made. Jon had noticed that his partner had been a little on edge. He opened his mouth to ask why, but was interrupted before he began by Ponch.

"So, what did you think of the escape of Stan Gordon?" Ponch asked, a hint of unease in his voice. He had horrid memories of that man.

Jon glanced at his friend, realizing the reason for the worry. Stan Gordon was a cruel man. He would stop at nothing for whatever scheme he had cooked up and had a grudge against all cops, Ponch especially. "I think it's definitely something worth watching out for. We'll just have to keep our eyes open for him," he stated calmly. He was hoping to put Ponch at ease.

A voice called out in a New English accent, "Number 175! Order for number 175!"

Jon quickly got their food and returned to the table only to find that Bear had pulled up a chair and joined them. The man had brought his food with him. Jon grinned. "Hey, Bear. What's up?"

Bear cocked his head. "Well, I had the strangest thing happen. I pulled a middle-aged guy over for speeding, but he said he had a relative in the CHP named Jonathan. I told him I could think of only two Jons. There's Kingsley and you. The strange thing is that he . . . kind of . . . looked like you. He had a different name, though." _Those eyes! They're like Jon's! That's why he was so familiar!_

"Well, I'm sure there are a lot of people with blonde hair and blue eyes here in California," Jon laughed. "Besides, my dad has brown hair and eyes. I have only one uncle and he has flaming red hair. His eyes are brown, too. And they live in Wyoming, so it it couldn't have been either of them."

Bear furrowed his brows. "Well, it couldn't have been a relative, then. How weird is that?"

They had a good laugh about Jon's _doppelgänger,_ but each would ponder that such a thing had happened later. In fact, had Bear thought on it, he would have remembered that a red car had followed him to the restaurant. Chuckling, Jon reached for his drink and accidentally spilled it over his shirt. "Oh, rats!" He stood up and went to get napkins. While he was off on that mission, Ponch and Bear started to chat.

"So," Bear started, "what happened at the beginning of briefing? I missed this first part."

Ponch shrugged and answered, "Oh, nothing much. There's a gang of motorcycle drivers that's been robbing stores and knocking people down. Oh, a man escaped from jail!"

Bear leaned forward. "Who was it?"

"Stan Gordon. He's that guy who . . ." Here he shuddered, then continued, "kidnaped me and tried to kill me."

Realization dawned in Bear's eyes. "So that's why that name sounded familiar! Oh, I remember him! Man, he was terrible! What a wretch!"

Ponch nodded grimly. "Yeah, and he's not in prison anymore."

Jon returned with a damp shirt. "I think I got most of it dry, but I'll probably smell like sweet tea all day."

The three ate their food, chatting in between bites. Soon, it was back to patrolling the highways.

Ponch glanced at his rear-view mirror, only to see a red vehicle behind them. At first, he thought nothing of it, passing it off as another car headed in the same general direction in which they were headed. After a few turns, however, he was convinced that the car's following close behind them was _not_ sheer happenstance.

"Ponch, stop!" Jon shouted, holding his arm out in a vain attempt to halt his partner.

Poncherello looked up to see that he had gone over a curb and was headed for a house. He swerved his motorcycle sharply to the left and just barely made it safely back. As soon as he got on the road again, he was bombarded by Jon's worried questions as to his wellbeing. He sighed, "Sorry, Jon. There was a car following us. I was thinking about that and forgot to look at where I was going, I guess. I'm fine."

Jon swiveled. "Car following us? Where?"

Ponch turned around, too. The car vehicle was nowhere in sight. Ponch stuttered, "B-but . . . he was there! I saw him!"

Jon frowned. "I believe you. . . but why didn't you tell me?"

"He did it so casually that I had to make sure it wasn't just a conincidence. He was following us, partner! I'm sure of it!"

Jon patted Ponch's back comfortingly. "Okay. Well, we lost him, so we should be fine. Let's get back on our bikes."

The two mounted their motorcycles and continued on their patrol. When their shift was over, they pulled into the CHP parking lot. Ponch was talking. "So, I'll bring over the pie Francesca made. It's apple pie, Jon!" He was very excited. "I'd like to bring her with you and, if you get a date, make it a double-date, but I can't. She drove up to Oregon to visit her grandparents for a few days. She should be back soon, maybe in a few days."

Jon grinned. "Apple pie? Oh, that'll be great for dessert!" His belly rumbled. "I sure hope supper hurries up and gets here!"

With a laugh, the two CHiPs parked their rides. They dismounted and went for the CHP Headquarters.

~-._.-*-._.-~

Jon stopped at the red light, impatient to get home and start supper. He and Ponch had split up and were going to meet up at his apartment. Suddenly, a flash of red grabbed his attention. Behind him was a car with a deep-crimson paint job. He remembered what Ponch had said about a red car stalking them and began to feel a bit panicked. He tried to inconspicuously lose the Mustang, and only accomplished his goal after a full ten minutes. Breathing a sigh of relief, Jon started home.

When he reached his apartment, he noticed something was off. He could not quiet place it, though. He parked his car carefully. As he walked up to his room, he was suspicious of every little sound. _I hate this! Since when am I paranoid?_ he wondered. _Still, it_ is _kind of freaky that I was being stalked._ He shook his head violently, as if to rid it from those thoughts. "Dear God, please help me calm down," he prayed. By this time, he had reached his door. He unlocked the door and slowly walked in. After satisfying his paranoia, he breathed a prayer of thanks to the Lord. He turned, flipped the light switch, and shut the door. A noise that sounded very much like the clearing of a throat made him pivot.

In his room, on his couch sat a man that resembled him greatly. It was a man that was ruthless, a man that was . . .

"Stan Gordon." Jon's voice was reserved and icy. He had not forgotten what this man had done and tried to do to Ponch, his best friend.

Gordon nodded. "Jonathan . . . so good to see you again."


	3. Chapter 3

_Hi! Sorry this took so long! I have it out now for you! :D Weirdo Girl, you can stop holding your breath now. :3 Please enjoy this! Oh, and thanks for putting up with me! Sorry I left you guys on a cliffhanger._

 _Neither "CHiPs" nor any of its characters belong to me. Stan Gordon and his partner belong to Ponchygirl. Thanks to the Lord for His help and for Ponchy for encouraging me! :{D_

"But the Way of the Ungodly Shall Perish"

Chapter 3

"What," Jon asked slowly, carefully enunciating each word, "are you doing here?" He clenched his jaw in anger.

The man, Stan Gordon, coughed, "Just hear me out. I need someone to talk to."

Jon opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off before any sound came out of it.

Stan held up his hand. "Yes, I know you could have me arrested, but . . . You see, I'm . . . dying."

 _What?_ Jon thought. He took a good look at the man currently on his couch. It was then that he noticed the beads of sweat on Gordon's forehead and the slight shaking of his hands. The older man was pale, too. "Why are you telling me this?"

The man continued as though Jon had not spoken. "I wanted to reconcile with my son before I die. It's my last wish. My son works in the police force."

Jon felt the odd dread from earlier return to his stomach. It was possible that he had been working with the offspring of this wicked man. Surely he would have noticed, though. _Just think,_ he mused wryly, _someone had to marry him in the first place!_ He felt guilty immediately afterward, but ignored it. He straightened. "What do you expect me to do about it?"

"His name is Jonathan . . . Jonathan Edwards Gordon."

~-._.-*-._.-~

Ponch whistled a lively tune as he came up the stairs. He felt something in his hands wriggle, so he looked down at it. "I think Jon's going to like you! What do you think he'll call you? I think the two names I came up with are perfect!" He shuffled the thing occupying his hands so his right hand was free. The bag hanging from his arm banged against the door. It held the promised pie. He steadied it and then began to open the door.

~-._.-*-._.-~

Jon's mind whirled. His first thought was _Hey, Edwards is_ my _middle name._ His next was _No, that can't be true. I . . . have a mom and a dad._ He looked at Stan and was torn between shaking the man silly while asking for answers and sending the man away for trying to con him. Thankfully for Stan, a noise made Jon's train of thought derail. In fact, the rattling of the door made him jump, so engrossed had he been in Stan's story.

The door swung open, revealing Ponch. He turned around to shut the door, chattering all the while. "So, Jon! I had to go home and change, right? Well, when I got there, there were about a dozen cats inside of it, looking for a mouse! I moved the cats out the way, but, when it was time to leave, heard mewing. I had to search my whole house! Finally, I found this little guy stuck behind the couch. Do you want to keep him?" He turned around then and held out the most adorable pile of fluff Jon had seen in ages. Ponch recoiled, however, when he saw Jon's "guest."

"Jon!" he whispered, horrified. "What is _he_ doing here?"

Jon looked to Stan and back to his best friend. "He," the younger blonde stated, "was just leaving. Weren't you?"

Gordon became the object of Jon's stare. He knew there was nothing more to be said at that time. After running his fingers through his hair, he struggled to his feet and murmured, "Yes. I hope I see you later." The man walked out.

Jon looked back at Ponch to see his wounded and terrified look. "Jon, what was he _doing_ on your couch? Why would you have him in here?!"

Jon held up his hands to calm the barrage of words coming his way. "He was here when I got here. He said he had to get something off his chest. It was the same spiel about his son, but this time, it was . . . different. In the past, he's always asked for his son, but has never given us anything to go by in finding him. 'Sides that, it's always been a ruse, which makes me think that this time it is, too. But . . . he gave me a name."

Ponch's curiosity won out. "What was it?"

"It was ? . . Jonathan Edwards Gordon. Ponch, I don't know any other Jon in the police force named that. Sure, I don't have the 'Gordon' part, but still! Do you thin—"

Ponch cut him off. "He must be pulling your leg, Baker! He lies all the time!"

"Yeah, but . . . what if he's not lying this time?" A kitten was thrust in his face, jarring his worried thoughts.

Ponch knew that Jon would continue to stew about this unless distracted. "He needs a name, Jon." He grinned. "I was thinking Dorito or Cheeto, 'cause then you can say that he's a chip, too!" He set down the bag bearing the pie.

Once again, Ponch's cheeriness was infectious. Jon laughed, "Those are good names."

The kitten was black with three white paws. His belly and the tip of his tail were also white. He cocked his head and batted Jon's nose.

"He looks like a Dorito."

At this, the newly-dubbed Dorito mewed happily.

His new owner picked him up and, after collapsing carefully (for Dorito's sake) onto his couch, set him down on his lap. "Aww, I think he likes it, Ponch!" Indeed, Dorito sat on Jon's hand and purred. "Thanks!"

Ponch sat down, too, supper plans forgotten. Dorito mewed and rubbed his face against his sleeve. "Hey, there, Dorito! I bet you're glad I found you, eh?"

The two sat there and played with the cat for the better part of an hour. It was only when the sound of stomachs rumbling could be heard that Jon and Ponch realized they had not had anything to eat for supper. Jon fried some hot dogs for them while Ponch went out to get cat food along with kitty litter and a litter box for Dorito. By the time he got back, Jon had set the table. After supper, they had apple pie à la mode, courtesy of Ponch's girlfriend, Francesca Rizzio. They watched a manly movie with buildings exploding and guns firing before calling it quits. Jon deftly maneuvered himself to get his kitten off him without waking him up and helped Ponch clean up what was left of the pie.

Five minutes later, Jon waved him off. He was left with the faint noise of what sounded like a mini motor— _Dorito is such a good cat!_ —and his thoughts from the encounter with Gordon. "What if . . . What if he's not lying?" he whispered. He realized that Stan Gordon had many of his sand habits, like running fingers through his hair when frustrated or worried or like biting his lip when in thought. There were more, but his exhausted mind could not think of any more. Jon picked up his furry bundle and headed for his bed. He laid the cat on his other pillow and collapsed into bed, falling into a restless sleep almost instantly. He barely had time to thank God for Ponch's visit and for Dorito before he drifted off.

~-._.-*-._.-~

D. stared at his friend and partner. Slick had gotten in and began taking off the make-up that made him appear sickly. "So, how'd it go? Did 'e fall for it?"

Slick looked up and replied slowly, "Not yet, but he will. I made sure of that." He chuckled lowly. "I'll visit him more in a day or two. You'll see. He'll come running to me."

 _I don't usually do this, but I really wanted to._

 _"Cliff Hanger, hanging from a cliff! And that's why he's called Cliff Hanger!"_

 _"Can't . . . hold . . . on . . . much . . . longer!"_

 _That also doesn't belong to me. It's from that one show "Between the Lions." Anyway, bye! :D_


	4. Chapter 4

_Hey! Sorry you guys had to wait. I was going to try to get this out on Saturday, but was unable (obviously) to do so. I hope you like it and that it meets your expectations! :D Look how long it is! :3 Oh, yeah! I forgot to mention that, as usual, there is absolutely no slash in this story. This is also set in the late '70s and early '80s, like the actual show._

 _Thanks to everyone who favorited, followed, and reviewed! You guys make me so happy! :D The Lord helped me write this and it is for His glory this story was written. I_ _couldn't have done it without Him! Also, Ponchy encouraged me to get it out quickly (and to make it longer, which I did), so that's good. It wouldn't be out now if it weren't for her. Oh, I do not own any characters from CHiPs. Stan Gordon (a.k.a. Slick) and Ryan (a.k.a. D.) belong to Ponchygirl, but I came up with their nicknames._ _Sorry for rambling, but I wanted to tell you that I figured out how to do this nifty line-thingy! :D_

* * *

"But the Way of the Ungodly Shall Perish"

Ch. 4

Jon yawned and sat up. The first thing he noticed that morning was something furry beside his leg. He stroked his kitten's silky fur, smiling when Dorito began to purr. Already, his dream had begun to fade. He went over it in his mind, trying to remember what had him so worried, but came up with nothing. That is, he came up with nothing until he got up to go to the bathroom. When he stood up, his kitten unconsciously shifted towards him, as if to say, "No, don't leave!"

Jon smiled and headed to the bathroom. As he flicked on the light, he peeked in the mirror. Parts of yesterday's conversation with Stan Gordon flitted through his head. For a few minutes, he accidentally mixed reality with what he had dreamed. _Oh, that's right! I dreamed that Stan Gordon actually said I was his son! Ha!_ He chuckled. _What a weird dream!_ Mewing from his room made him realize that, while he may or may not have dreamed about Stan Gordon and his ridiculous claims, it was true that he had been visited by the renown criminal, for if that had not happened, he would not have had Dorito.

The blonde peered at the mirror. Now that he thought about it, Stan's hair was the same shade as his, aside from the occasional grey streak. They also . . . had the same color eyes. Now, Jon's jaw wasn't as pointy as Gordon's, but they were awfully close. Jon drew in a short breath. Blonde hair and eyes were normal, right? . . . Could it be true? Dorito walked in and rubbed against his leg, purring. Jon, shaken from his worries, reached down and picked him up. Maybe what Gordon had said was true, but he would fret about that later. "You know, Dorito, you need a collar and a tag. I'll try to get that after work." His kitten let out a high-pitched meow in response and tried to nibble on his finger. Jon yelped. "No, Dorito. Don't bite me." Dorito gave him such a forlorn and devastated look that Jon's stern face melted into a smile.

~-._.-*-._.-~

Ponch jackknifed, panting. He then glanced around the room and tried to get his bearings. Light poring into his room through the window, his blue covers pooling around his waist, his clock telling him he would be late if he did not hurry, and his pillow tossed haphazardly by his feet—those things helped him realize where he was. He had been thinking about Stan's escape for so much the previous day that it seemed the man had invaded his dreams. Ponch had woken up in a cold sweat multiple times that night because of a nightmare. He stretched and stood. As he walked to the bathroom, his thoughts were on one Stan Gordon. To be perfectly honest, he was terrified at the thought of that man being out on the loose. _What if . . . what if he attacks me and tries to hurt me again?_ That thought, though unbidden, made Ponch stop in his tracks. He shuddered.

Seven minutes later, Ponch had showered and dressed and was sitting at the table, eating bacon and eggs. In front of him lay his Bible. It was turned to Matthew 5:44. "'But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you;'" he read out loud. After pondering what it said, he bowed his head and prayed, "Lord, thanks for this verse. I ask You to please help me do this to Gordon. I can't do it alone. Thank You! In Jesus' name I pray, amen!" He lifted his head and eagerly began to wolf down his food. At this point, it was almost certain that he was going to be late!

When he rushed into CHP Headquarters, he made for the room he knew all officers were to be in. He slipped into his seat right before Sergeant Getraer started briefing. He sighed in relief, thinking, _Phew! I made it!_ Jon gave him a discreet grin.

The sergeant's gaze turned on him. "Well, Frank, thank you for gracing us with your presence. We though we'd have to start without you."

Ponch chuckled, "Sorry to disappoint you, Sarge." He smirked as a chorus of soft laughter came from some of the other officers.

"Very funny, Poncherello." Despite Getraer's words, it looked to Ponch that his mouth quirked up a bit at the edges in a small smile, but he did not get a good view, for the sergeant turned back to his notes.

Ponch sat there, listening to what Getraer had to say when he froze.

". . . so you'll have to be extra careful," the sergeant was saying. "Stan Gordon is a con man and will likely try to tell you anything. Officer Barizca had a run-in with him just yesterday. Unfortunately, he wasn't in briefing when I said Mr. Gordon had escaped, so he didn't know to arrest him."

Ponch sat there, taking quick, panicked breaths. He knew all this, but just the thought of that criminal made him panic. He felt Jon's eyes on him and forced a weak smile at him.

Jon winced in sympathy for his friend. He mouthed, "He'll get caught. It'll be okay."

Ponch nodded. He silently prayed and asked for God to help him calm down. Seconds later, his breaths slowed. He sighed.

The rest of the briefing went well. Within ten minutes, the two were heading for their motorcycles.

"Uh, Baker? Poncherello?" Getraer called. When they turned around to face him, he stated, "I know you two have a bad history with this Stan guy, especially you, Frank, but we will all be out on the lookout for him." The unspoken phrase "so you don't have to worry very much" was still understood by the two officers.

Ponch looked relieved. Jon, however, had a strange look on his face. "Thanks, Sarge," they both replied simultaneously.

~-._.-*-._.-~

Five minutes later had the two on patrol. Jon glanced at his best friend, remembering the haunted look his eyes that had been in his eyes that morning. "Ponch . . . are you okay? You look like you didn't get much sleep."

Ponch's head shot towards him and then back to the road. "What? No, I'm fine, Baker. I just had a rough night." He turned to Jon. "How are you holding up?'

The blonde shrugged. "I don't know. I'll do something and then remember that I did it exactly like he does. He's probably just trying to make me paranoid."

Ponch nodded and shuddered. "Yeah. He can be very mean."

"So, when does your girlfriend get back from visiting her grandparents?" queried Jon, eager to change the subject.

Ponch's eyes grew dreamy. "I think she'll get back in three days. I can't wait to see her!" A sky grin crawled across his face. "You know, she's got a roommate. If I asked her, she might set you up with her."

A blue Oldsmobile sped past them, effectively cutting off whatever Jon might have said. Immediately, they sped up and raced after the man.

The driver took a swig out of something in a flask. "Those silly CHiPPies! They th-th-think they own th' r-road," the man slurred. "I've got t' get home." He blinked. Why was there a van coming for him? Ignoring the honks (or maybe he simply did not hear them as a result of the large quantities of alcohol he had imbibed), swerved right to avoid death by crashing. His car rolled down an embankment.

Jon and Ponch parked their bikes on the freeway's shoulder and hurried down to rescue him.

~-._.-*-._.-~

The rest of the patrol (excluding lunch, in which Jon figured out he should not put spicy sauce on his chili) was rather uneventful. After they had checked in with the sergeant and changed into their civilian clothes, Jon turned to Ponch. "Hey, do you want to help me pick out a collar for Dorito? I figured you should have a say in it since you gave him to me."

Ponch grinned. "Sure!"

He and Jon picked up Dorito and went to the local pet store. There Jon purchased a thin, green collar with a small bell on it and a circular name tag. On the tag was inscribed _Dorito_ and Jon's telephone number. The kitten was not sure what to think about this strange, new thing around his neck. He tried to claw it at first, but finally gave up and collapsed on Ponch's lap, purring. Ponch was delighted.

The next two days passed with few incidents. Ponch and Jon were still slightly haunted by Stan Gordon's visit, but would try not to show it. Both prayed and asked for the Lord's help in dealing with this information. During these days, Jon almost completely litterbox-trained Dorito.

~-._.-*-._.-~

 _Madison came rushing into the room, ears still ringing from the sound of the bullet being fired. She gasped. Steve was standing over the body of his brother Henry. His left hand held a smoking pistol. Madison screamed and—_

An alarm clock went off, startling the young woman out of reading the book. She looked at the clock. "Oh, my word! I have only thirty minutes to get to the airport!" She got out from behind the counter and ran to her boss's office. "Mrs. Mason? I know the library still has two hours 'til it closes, but I promised a friend I'd meet her at the airport. May I go, please?"

Mrs. Mason glanced at the time on her wristwatch. "Yes, you may, Miss Velasquez. I will see you tomorrow, then."

"Oh, thank you!" The young woman exclaimed. _"¡Hasta la vista!"_

Mrs. Mason chuckled, "Bye. Drive safely."

"Yes, ma'am!" With a quick wave, Miss Velasquez rushed off. She got into her mossy-green Volkswagen and made for the airport. _If I hurry, I just might make it!_ she thought happily. "Oh, Lord, please help me to make it on time!" She thanked God when her car pulled into the place closest to the entrance. _Phew! I must be related to Papa! He always gets the first spot._ She parked the car and ran to pick up her friend. As soon as she saw her best friend, she called out, "Frankie!"

At five feet four inches, Francesca Rizzio was not the tallest girl around. Her almond-shaped eyes were the color of coffee with just a hint of creamer in it and were framed by thick, red glasses. Her straight, brown hair fell two inches past her waist. With her tan skin and slender frame were complimented by her light blue shirt and loose-fitting jeans, which were tucked into knee-high brown boots. "Cristina!" she cried.

The two of them embraced, grinning.

Francesca looked her friend over. "Did you just come from work?"

Cristina said, "Yep! Oh, I was reading this new murder mystery! I think you'd like it!"

"Well, I'll try it out. Hey, have you heard from Ponch yet?"

The girl furrowed her brows. "Um, I don't think so. Oh, yeah! I saw him at the grocery store yesterday. He asked if you were coning _tomorrow,_ to which I told him you were coming _today."_

The two chatted all the way to the baggage claim and to the car. By the time they got home, Frankie had told Cristina everything that had happened at her grandparents' house.

~-._.-*-._.-~

"Are y' sure he'll get ahold of y', Slick?" D. asked, his voice a low rumble.

"Just be patient. He will. Just give him a few more days." Stan smirked. He and his friend had once been widely known throughout the criminal underground by their actual names, Stan Gordon and Ryan. They had messed with the wrong cried, however, and had deemed it necessary to cover their tracks by adopting the pseudonyms of "Slick" and "D."

~-._.-*-._.-~

Jon stood by his telephone. Should he call his parents and ask them or not? He had been mulling over the situation the entire day. One call could either break their hearts that he had not trusted them enough or could reveal a terrible truth about his past. _What should I do, Lord?_


	5. Chapter 5

_Hey! Sorry this chapter wasn't out earlier. I'm here now, though! I hope you like it! I do not own "CHiPs" or any of its characters. Also, Stan Gordon and Ryan belong to Ponchygirl. I praise the Lord for His help in getting this chapter out. :D Oh, and I love that you guys like this story! I'll try not to disappoint!_

"But the Way of the Ungodly Shall Perish"

Ch. 5

Jon did not know how long he stood there, staring into space. He prayed, "Heavenly Father, please give me the wisdom I need. Should I call them? Am I just overreacting?"

A _thunk_ drew his attention to the table on which rested his telephone. Dorito, despite being such a little kitten, had jumped up on top of it. He playfully batted the cord around with his little paws. He then pounced on it too hard and made the telephone come out of its cradle. He stared at it, confused.

Jon laughed and picked up the telephone. He dialed a number he had memorized when he was a little boy. Several seconds passed, but his call could not go through. He tried again and was met by the same end. _Ditto with the no response,_ he thought wryly. "I think I'll call Ponch, then." He dialed in the number of his best friend and waited, listening to each ring. That call could not be completed, either. "Drat!" Jon snapped and slammed the telephone down. "Is everyone busy today?!"

Dorito looked up at him with soulful eyes. It was then that Jon remembered he had not played with him since supper. Dorito was a kitten. He would be playing with his siblings if he had any. Jon scooped him up and set him on the floor. After that, he crouched down himself. There he laughed at the kitten's antics and experimented with a few toys, trying to find the one his pet would enjoy most.

~-._.-*-._.-~

Ponch nodded, declaring into the telephone, "I'm just a bit worried for him. Well, I'm worried for me, too. . . Jon has been stuck on this thought for a while. . . It's eating him up! He really thinks that man could be his father! There's no way, right, Mrs. Baker? You and Mr. Baker are his parents . . . Wait! Don't cry! . . . Well, yes. . . Of course. I won't say a word." Ponch ended up being on the line for over an hour When he finally hung it up, he sat down on the couch heavily. What Jon's mother said weighed heavily on his mind. _Should I tell Jon what she said? No, that's between them. I shouldn't get involved. He nodded. I'll keep out of it unless I need to tell him._ With that, he turned on the television. When he was about halfway through an episode of _Hogan's Heroes,_ he found himself thinking about the predicament. The very presence of the con man made him all jumpy inside. _Stan has to be up to something!_

The ringing of the telephone startled him out of his thoughts. He muted the television and answered it on its third ring. "Hello? This is Frank Poncherello. . . Oh! Hey, Frankie! Did you get here safely? . . . I'm glad! . . . Yeah, I met your roommate at Ralph's, that little grocery store by McDonald's. She told me you would get in today. Listen, I know it's short notice, but do you want to have dinner with me? . . . Great! How about at eight? . . . Awesome! It'll be at my house. . . Okay! See you there!" He set the receiver down, thinking about what to make for his date. Finally, he decided on the meal and, after switching off _Hogan's Heroes,_ he set about making it. By the time the doorbell rang, he had everything ready.

He swiftly went for the door and opened it. "Frankie!" he exclaimed.

Francesca smiled brilliantly. "Hey, Ponch!" she squealed. She gave him a hug.

"I missed you so much!" He led her in the dining room. "You have to tell me all about your trip!" He pulled out her chair for her and seated her. After he was in his chair, the two of them bowed their heads and closed their eyes. Ponch prayed, "Dear Heavenly Father, thanks for giving Frankie a safe trip back home! Thank You for this food, too. Please bless it to the nourishment of our bodies. In Jesus' name, amen." When they lifted their heads, they smiled and began to eat. Ponch had prepared meatloaf, green beans, and mashed potatoes.

Francesca told him all about her flight to her grandparents, how she had tripped and almost died on a cliff near their house, and how she had been "frisked by the airport police," as she called it. "I tell you, they thought I was going to bomb the airplane! They went through my purse and even in my duffle bag! After that, they had to pat me down, just to make sure I wasn't carrying a gun."

"What? Why?" Ponch was confused, but worried. He knew his girlfriend would not do anything illegal, but the airport security must not have.

"Apparently, my license expired the day I flew out, so they wanted to make sure I was aware of that. There was some kind of terrorist group rumored to be planning an attack on the airport," she huffed. "If all worked out well, though. I found that dollar I lost in one of my notebooks. I was still able to board."

The insistent knocking at his door cause him to look up. "Sorry. I wonder who that is." He answered the door to see Jon there. Ponch cocked his head. "Oh, hi! What are you doing here?"

Jon sighed in relief. "I was worried. I tried to call you and the line was busy. At first I thought you might just be busy, but then I remembered how Stan Gordon was loose. I figured maybe he might've come here to hurt you. I've called for the last half hour.

Ponch looked at his telephone. He had accidentally not put it on the hook when he was done with his call. He quickly remedied that. "Sorry. Thanks for worrying, but I'm all right. Uh, Frankie's here."

Jon waved. "Hi!" He received a smile in response. His eyes widened. "Oh! Am I interrupting anything?"

Francesca and Ponch looked at each other. "Well, kind of," Ponch started. "We're on a date."

"Oh. I'm so sorry! Here, I'll go. Bye! I'm glad you're safe!" Jon grinned and left, closing the door behind him.

Frankie smiled. "I'm glad you have a best friend who worries that much about you."

"Yeah." I really am blessed. Frankie's an example of that! he mused. "Well, we'd better hurry or we won't have time for dessert! I made brownies!" He waggled his eyebrows at her.

"Cool beans!" Frankie exclaimed.

~-._.-*-._.-~

The next day was a Thursday. Jon and Ponch came into briefing only minutes late. Fortunately for them, the sergeant had not started yet. As they slipped into their seats, they overheard Barry Baricza and Bonnie Clark talking about some kind of troubles they had been having with catching a certain group of idiotic teens racing along the back roads.

When Sergeant Getraer stepped up, all chatter ceased. He cleared his throat and began, saying, "There is a banquet the government is setting up for the Peruvian ambassador on Saturday evening. The ambassador is bringing us his country's most prized jewel to put on display. He has been traveling around the world, showing it off. This is where we come in. This jewel is worth three million dollars, so we are to act as security. The L.A.P.D. Is sending in as much men as they can spare, but they've been shorthand end, what with the flu going around. Officers Clark, Grossman, Baker, and Poncherello, you are going to be there." He continued on to say the rest of the news, but that was all, Jon and Ponch would soon find out, that was necessary.

~-._.-*-._.-~

On Friday, Jon and Ponch decided to go ask around about Stan Gordon and see what they could dig up. After three hours, they finally met a man who seemed to know what they were talking about. When Ponch requested information on Gordon, the older man said in a craggy voice, "I saw him hereabouts."

"Where?" Jon demanded.

Their informant cocked his head and slowly stated, "Well, I don't rightly know. I saw him walk out of the grocery store. He was carrying two brown paper bags. There were carrots in there! Ah, I love carrots! I named my chickadee that, you know. She was a right beauty, she was."

Both CHiPs smiled happily. They had something to go on! After thanking the carrot-crazed man, they turned to leave. They were stopped, however, by his voice saying, "And where's my pay?"

Jon furrowed his brow. "What payment?"

"Why, the payment you'll give me for what I told you. That's what payment." His smug voice made Jon want to slap him upside the head, but he refrained.

~-._.-*-._.-~

"Are you sure the bum said he was seen here last?" Jon noticed how light his wallet felt after the informant demanded he be payed.

Ponch nodded. He looked ahead. "It was right . . . here . . ." He allowed his voice to trail off, for his attention was fixed on a corner of two streets a few blocks ahead of them. There, a stocky man peered around and, after decided no one was watching, turned the corner. Ponch chased after the man, ignoring Jon's questioning cries. He was torn between dread, curiosity, and fear. _That man . . . looks familiar,_ he thought. _Could it be . . . Oh, I hope not!_ Ponch summoned an image in his mind, mentally comparing the two. He stopped when he reached the corner. There was not one soul there that he could see. Where had he gone?

Jon finally a reached him at that point. "What," he huffed, "were you . . . doing? Did you . . . see Stan . . . Gordon?"

Ponch only shook his head. _Maybe I'm imagining things._ He shuddered. That man had looked like Ryan, Gordon's partner. Like Gordon, Ryan was a cruel man. They also shared a hatred for him. He began to tremble almost imperceptibly.

Jon had known Ponch for years and knew his body language. That was why he noticed Ponch slightly shaking. "Are you really okay? What did you see? If it wasn't Stan Gordon, then it must be something else."

Ponch's eyes bugged out. He was trying to spear nonchalant, but was failing miserably. Finally, he gave up. "R-Ryan," he managed to spit out. _Lord, help me, please!_

Jon ran that name through his mind, trying to remember if it sounded familiar to him. _I don't know who this "Ryan" is, but the important thing is to calm him down now._ "Ponch, he's gone now, right?" When Ponch nodded, he sighed in relief. "Well, then we don't have to worry. Let's just get back to my truck, okay?"

Ponch made a strangled sound just then, clearly attempting to get over the fear and tell Jon something.

Jon cocked his head. What was Ponch trying to do? He heard a noise behind him, his honed senses kicking in. He whipped his head around to see Stan Gordon leering at him. A clunking sound told him that someone was approaching them from the other side.

Ponch stared at Ryan with something akin to terror. He frantically prayed for God's help.

Ryan smirked. _This'll be fun._ He turned Ponch around and grabbed the Puerto Rican cop's arms so he could not escape.

"All right, Jon. You are going to come with us quietly or you friend here gets it," Stan ordered. As if to prove it would happen, Ryan squeezed Ponch's arms harder.

This made Ponch cry out.

Jon silently prayed, _Lord, what should I do?_


	6. Chapter 6

"But the Way of the Ungodly Shall Perish"  
Chapter 6

Cristina had just gotten off her shift at the library. When she exited the building, she found her roommate parked beside her. "Hi, Frankie! What are you doin' here?" she asked, excited.

"When I got home last night, I was too busy thinking about Ponch to tell you all about our date! And you'd already left this morning when I got up. I waited 'til you got off so we could eat an early lunch, Cris."

Cris grinned. "Tell me all about it!"

Francesca relayed everything that had happened that night. She got especially excited when she talked about dessert. "He baked brownies, too, Cris!" Francesca's face showed the pure bliss she felt.

"Ooh! Were they good?" Cristina pushed up her silver frames.  
Frankie nodded. "Oh, they were amazing!"

"Well?! What did you do next?"

"We sat down and played some board games. I beat him three times in Mancala!" she stated proudly.

Cris clapped. Her green eyes wide, she asked, "In a row?"

Frankie nodded. "Yeppers! Then we sat and talked. It was nice. I'd really missed him. His clock chimed at ten o' clock. Man, I hadn't known it was so late! Then he walked me out to the car and kissed me on the forehead." She smiled dreamily and blushed. "He was so sweet!"

Cris let out a loud squee. "Oh, my wow! That's adorable!"

"I know! When I left, he was waving at me!"

~-._.-*-._.-~

Jon looked at Ponch. Ponch caught his gaze and returned it with one of his own. To anyone else, it seemed to be merely them making sure each other was all right, but it was, in truth, an actual conversation. It was something that came natural to them after being friends and then partners for so long. By just raising an eyebrow, Jon asked Ponch if he would be able to move rapidly should the situation require it.

Ponch waggled his eyebrows barely as if to say, "Definitely!" He hoped Jon would overlook the fear reflected in his eyes.

Jon glanced at Stan out of the corner of his eye and then jerked his head slightly. When his eyes faced Ponch again, he raised both eyebrows. "Can you take him?" he looked to be saying.

Ponch hesitated a second and, after swallowing his fear, nodded almost imperceptibly. He quirked an eyebrow at Ryan, asking if Jon could get the muscular man. A blink from Jon reassured him.

Maintaining eye contact, they mentally counted to three before each twisting around and breaking their captors' hold on them. Stan and Ryan only let them go so easily because they were surprised at the action. Jon and Ponch ran like the Devil himself was after them, which, they figured, was an adequate description. Ryan made to chase them, but was stopped by a hand on his arm.

"Wait. After they think they've got away, we'll make our move."

Ryan hesitantly agreed. He was in the mood to make those cops pay for daring to escape. He punched his palm. After several seconds, he glared at the floor. "How 'bout now? They's prob'ly far 'nough now, don't y' think?"

Stan nodded. "Yes. You do remember the plan, right?"

His partner looked up and bit his lip, thinking. A minute later, he nodded. "Yep. We go after him and his partner will follow along."

~-._.-*-._.-~

"You know," Frankie said thoughtfully, "Ponch's birthday is coming up soon. We should ask his sergeant if he'll help me plan it!"

Cristina nodded. "That's a great idea! What ideas do you have?"

"Well, you see . . ."

~-._.-*-._.-~

Ponch propped himself against a wall, breathing heavily. "J-Jon," he panted, "do . . . do you . . . think . . . we've lost him?" There was a tremor in his voice, indicating his fear.

Jon turned to face his partner. He, too, was out of breath. "I . . . hope so. Why . . . does that guy . . . scare you . . . so much?"

Ponch paled. He had planned to never think about that man ever again. Although he opened his mouth to speak, no words came out. He cleared his throat and tried again. By that time, he had his breath. "When I was in second grade, I met him. I don't remember much about this even now, but I do remember me getting blamed for a lot of things he did. Eventually, he disappeared for a while. I found out many years later he had been in jail. I went on with my life, but, in ninth grade, came across him again. It was around lunchtime. Well, It had been a while, so I didn't remember him. He looked . . . different. He didn't have any hair. Anyway, he seemed to need help, so I shared my sandwich with him. We started a friendship. For years, I would help him with things and he would tell me stories. Sure, his stories weren't very good. I couldn't figure out why he didn't tell stories with nice people in them. When I got to eleventh grade, money was tight, so my parents had to let me stay at our cousin's house while they tried to get better jobs. I didn't want to go, though. Ryan told me he had an empty room at his house where I could stay.

"I thought that was a good idea, so I went with him without telling my parents. Ryan led me inside his house and showed me my room. I thought he was my friend." He scoffed, "He sure showed me. Let's just say, I couldn't leave the house for a week because it hurt so much to do it. My leg even got broken! He is just a wicked man! He played with my mind, too. His poor grandmother lived in the house and would try to get him to stop, but couldn't even do it. Ryan threatened me that if I told anyone about it, he would . . . kill me. I tried to run away many times, but was always brought back. That was when I met Stan Gordon. He helped Ryan chase me down."

Jon stood there, stunned. _I had no idea so much happened to him!_ His mouth was suddenly dry. "How . . . how did you escape?" he managed to get out.

"One time, he knocked me out. The next thing I knew, I was lying in a riverbed, shivering, while a kind, old lady took care of me. Unfortunately, she was Ryan's grandma. Still, she managed to hide me from Ryan and get me safely to my cousin's house after I healed. I told the police and they put him in jail. He escaped about a year ago."

Jon whistled lowly. "Wow. No wonder you're trying to get away from him! Well, we'd better hurry up and get away from him, then."

As they two left the area, neither noticed the dark shadow creeping along.  
Jon unlocked his truck and pivoted to find that no one was behind him. "Ponch?!" he hollered. "Hey, Ponch? C'mon! This isn't the time for a joke! Where are you?!" He was met with the sound of scurrying rat feet and the whistling of the wind. He ran all over the area, searching in vain for his best friend. _Should I call Getraer? Surely_ he _could grt some people out on this!_ He got into his truck and used his CB radio to call Central.

"What is your emergency?" came the voice of the cheerful dispatcher.

Jon gulped. "Yes, dispatch. This is 7-Mary-3. We have an emergency!"

"I'll patch you in right away."

Immediately, he was met by a familiar voice, but not the sergeant's. "CHP Headquarters. How may I help you?"

"Francesca? What are you doing there?" he asked, confused.

"I went to see your sergeant about helping me with something. He's busy now, so I answered the call."

Jon knew she would not be halogen if she heard about Ponch's disappearance, so he cleared his throat and said, "Can you get him in here? I need him for something important. It's a matter of life and death!"

~-._.-*-._.-~

Francesca straightened her posture. This was serious! She pressed down the button on the radio receiver. "Right away!" With that, she dashed off. In the hallway, she bumped into the very person for whom she had been looking. "Sergeant Getraer! Oh, thank God I found you! Jon's on the radio and said he needs you! He told me it's a matter of life and death!"

Getraer grabbed her arm gently and ushered her to his office. "Well? What are we waiting for! Let's go!"

Upon entering his office, Getraer made for his CB radio. "Jon, what is this? What's wrong?!"

Jon, assuming Frankie was gone, blurted out, "They took Ponch!"

Frankie gasped.

The sergeant's brows furrowed in worry. "Who took Ponch, Jon? Who?"

"Stan Gordon, the escaped convict! He and his accomplice, Ryan, took Ponch!"

Getraer's voice did not show surprise, but he definitely felt it. "Whoa, now. Didn't I tell you to be careful around him?"

Jon sighed, "Yes, but we tried to be!"

"What happened? Tell me."

Jon poured out all that had happened in the past few days. He spilled how he had felt and how he could tell Ponch had he finally finished, he sighed.

Getraer was silent for a few seconds. He then spoke. "Jon, why didn't you two come to me? I would've helped you!"

"I was curious. I knew Stan was a liar, but I didn't know he would pull a stunt like that."

Frankie spoke up then, her voice surprisingly steady. "We need to pray for him." Tears rolled down her cheeks.

"You're sti—"

Jon was cut off by her praying, "Lord, thank You for being in control. We come to You today and ask for Ponch's safety. He's somewhere, but we don't know where. Please help him and keep him safe! Please," she paused to regain her composure, "bring him back to me. I ask this in Your name, amen."

Jon immediately felt better. God was in control. He had known this would happen before it actually did. _Thank You, Father,_ he prayed silently. _Ponch is in Your hands. In Jesus' name, amen._ "Thanks. Well, I'm going to look for Ponch again," he said, greatly encouraged. Just as he hung up his CB radio, a nearby pay phone rang. Jon answered it. Confusion was written all over his face. He could only hear static at first, but then could hear a voice as though far away. He could not make out what it was saying, only that it held a tone as though threatening someone.

"J-Jon?" Ponch asked.

Jon's jaw dropped. "What? Ponch, is that you?"

Ponch said, "Yes. Please . . . the . . . people I'm with . . ." Just then, there was a gasp.

The telephone spewed out a different voice. "Now, if you want to see him alive again, you'll have to pay his ransom."

Jon thought of the homeless man in the street to whom he had given most of the cash in his wallet. "But I don't ha—"

Again, he was cut off. Stan chuckled. "We don't want your money, Jonathan."  
"What do you want?"

Stan's voice grew cold. "We want you. We'll let your friend go if you'll offer yourself."

Jon mused, _He'll die if I don't go!_ To Stan, he said, "Fine! Where are you?"

"Two blocks from here. Go to Dan Street and turn left. Then go to 142 Finn Lane. Oh, and," he allowed his voice to drop to a deadly one, "we're watching you. The moment you call your precious sergeant, your partner here gets it."

Jon gulped. "All right."

~-._.-*-._.-~

Cristina walked into Getraer's office. She had been entertaining a young group of kids whose mother had come in with a complaint. When Cris saw Frankie and the sergeant kneeling, each with hands clasped together, she knew something was wrong. "Guys, what are y—"

Frankie looked up. Her eyes were puffy from crying. "Ponch has been kidnapped! We're praying for him now."

Cristina immediately began to pray, too.

~-._.-*-._.~

Jon sat on the ground in the hideout. He had given himself up for his best friend. Despite the cruelty of the men, though, he could not hate them. A verse kept coming to mind. It was Matthew 5:44, which read "But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you;" He could not hate them. Jesus loves them, so he should, too.

Even though he knew the truth, he would not hate the man, by God's grace. Stan had told him of his marriage to a young lady named Grace Falman. He had not been a good man, even going so far as to take out his anger on her, even if not physically. It was because of this that she had decided to leave him. Her decision had also been influenced by that fact that she had discovered his criminal activity. However, after staying with her cousin Jessie, a good Christian woman, she accepted Christ as her Savior and realized that the Bible said people, in God's eyes, cannot truly leave their spouse except for unfaithfulness. She went back to her husband and prayed for him each day. Stan had been furious that she had "gotten religion," as he called it. He had thrown a fit then and later on, when she had told him she was expecting their child. His worst and last one had been when he had found out she had contracted cancer. He figured he was through. If she died, he would be in charge of their offspring. The prospect of having a young child around, being loud, had not sat well with him. That night he had left without a trace. Not even a sock of his could have been found in their house. When Grace had gotten up that morning, she had not even found a note from him.

After finding this out, Job had despised him. Then he had remembered the verse. Another had come to mind when he struggled with it. He remembered Ephesians 4:32 To remind himself, he whispered it to himself, "'And be ye kind one to another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ's sake hath forgiven you.'" He may not have committed some of the sins Stan and Ryan had, but he had still committed sins. His Lord had forgiven him of all his sins, therefore he should forgive them.  
Stan had left a few minutes ago with Ponch. He had claimed that the Puerto Rican was there "for insurance" and vise versa. Should either of them try anything, it would mean the worse for the other. Ryan and Stan were connected by walked talkies and would not hesitate to use them. With this in mind, Jon had acquiesced. He had a plan, though. He began to pray.

~-._.-*-._.-~

As Stan tugged on his boot, he smirked. His plan was going perfectly! Surely nothing could happen to ruin it!


	7. Chapter 7

_Hey! So I think this'll probably be the second to last chapter, aside from maybe an epilogue. Anyway, I hope you like it!_

 _CHiPs does not belong to me. Stan and Ryan belong to Ponchygirl. I thank the Lord for His help in me posting this! Also, I'm not sure when the next chapter will be posted. I'm going to be extremely busy starting tomorrow. Pray for me, please!_

* * *

"But the Way of the Ungodly Shall Perish"

Chapter 7

Ponch's mind raced. If he tried to escape or attack Stan during the ambassador's visit, Jon would pay. He shook his head in confusion and winced. They had wanted him to sound desperate, so Stan had let Ryan rough him up enough so he would be in pain. Fortunately, Ponch was their key to pulling off their heist. He now sported a few bruises and a headache along with the sprain on his wrist. Mentally shrugging off the pain, he concentrated. If he could only slip a note to Bonnie or Bear, he would be set. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pen. Stan had ordered him to get dressed for the big event and had left him to do so. He rapidly scribbled a note on a scrap of paper and stuffed both paper and pen into his pocket.

He would have to pray that the Lord would help him. Why had He not done it already? "Lord, why? You know what Stan and Ryan are doing! You know that I shouldn't be here! You know Jon shouldn't be stuck in that house with that guy! We were doing what's right. Why are they having good things happen to them?" Just then, a verse popped into his head. "Psalm 1:6," he quoted, "'For the Lord knoweth the way of the righteous: but the way of the ungodly shall perish.' I just need to trust You, don't I? I'm sorry for doubting You. I need Your help not to hate them, either. You know we were doing right. Please forgive me. Thank You! In Jesus' name I pray, amen." Instantly, he felt a wave of peace wash over him. The Lord knew what He was doing. He was the One Who had the plan.

His mind returned to when he had gotten kidnapped. He remembered watching Jon unlock the truck and suddenly having a grimy hand slap over his mouth. He had tried but had failed to make a sound. The perpetrator had dragged him away then. He had almost passed out from lack of air. When he had regained his senses, he had noticed that the attacker had dragged him to some hideout. He had awoken in a dingy room on a filthy couch beside an equally filthy wall. When he had stood up, Ryan had pushed him into the wall by his side. Ponch had cried out and accidentally bumped his head on the wall. After that, he had lost his balance and had tumbled to the floor, not thinking clearly because of the pain and shock. He had stretched out a hand to catch himself and ended up spraining it. Then Stan had picked up the telephone and, after dialing the number, had held it out for the person he had called to hear Ryan telling him he had better not tell Jon where they were. Ponch had barely gotten to talk to Jon when the telephone had been ripped out of his hands by Ryan, who had begun talking to Jon. Ponch had been seated by Stan. Stan had told him that he was only there so Jon would come and that he would be allowed to leave once Jon offered himself. Ponch had been able to tell that Stan was lying, but let it go.

Fifteen minutes later, Jon had run into the house, shouting, "Ponch! Ponch!"

Ponch had yelled out, "Jon!" and had strangely not been hushed by the criminals near him.

Jon had followed the sound to see Ponch sitting on the couch. He had ignored Stan and Ryan, choosing rather asking questions about Ponch's well-being. After ascertaining that he was all right, Jon had willingly given himself up in exchange for his partner.

Ponch had been taken to another room for him to get ready. For what, he did not know. He had been thrown his uniform with instructions to change into it, so that he did.

~-._.-*-._.-~

Ryan checked his wristwatch. _Soon,_ he mused to himself _, this'll be all over an' me and Stan'll have th' jewel!_ He checked on his prisoner. Poor Jon seemed to Ryan to have tired himself out. He was sitting with his head on his chest and his eyes closed. Ryan though, _What a wimp!_ and went back to patrolling the area. Suddenly, his walkie-talkie crackled to life.

"D., this is Slick. Come in D." Stan's voice could be heard saying, though it was slightly distorted.

Ryan grabbed his device and, pushing down the button, stated, "This is D. What is it, Slick?"

"All's clear over here. What about with you?"

Ryan chuckled. "The kid worried 'imself out so much that 'e fell 'sleep! Some officer he is!"

Stan sighed. He had wanted Jon to feel the pain emotionally, something the young man could not feel when he was asleep. "Well, make sure he's awake when I do the stealing, all right? I want him to hear it and know that he was the cause of this. I got his uniform from his room, by the way. I had to search for it."

"Right." Ryan set down his walkie-talkie. He left then to get a salami sandwich he had been eating earlier. "You stay there quietly, kid." When Jon did not even so much as stir, the burly man left.

A few seconds later, Jon raised his head. "Thank You, Lord!" he whispered. He gazed around the room. He was only stopped from escaping by Ponch's being in trouble. If Jon left the room, he could take the walkie-talkie so Stan would never know! Then again, if he was caught, Ponch would suffer. He shook his head. God would just have to provide him a way of escape.

~-._.-*-._.-~

Getraer had sent Cristina and Francesca to Jon's house to at least make sure he was safe. When they got there, however, no one answered. The door was cracked open just barely, so they opened it. The living room looked fine, but there was no Jon. A mewing sounded faintly from the kitchen. When the two walked over there, they spotted a little black kitten with white on his belly, the top of his tail, and three of his paws. He looked up at them and let out another mew.

Cris figured he wanted to be picked up, so she gathered the tiny bundle of fluff into her arms. "Hey there, little fella! My name's Cris. What's yours?" She checked his tag to see his name. "Frankie, his name is Dorito! Aww!"

The kitten purred softly.

Cristina looked lovingly at him. With her tall frame and light brown hair, Cris was attractive. She was not strikingly beautiful, perhaps, like Francesca was but was attractive in her own way. The kitten batted at her shoulder-length hair playfully. _"¡Tu eres muy adorable, gatito!"_

Frankie laughed. "Yeah, the kitten is cute!"

Even though she knew Dorito could not talk, she asked him, "Where's Jon?"

Dorito just twitched his tail worriedly.

Frankie decided to check Jon's room. What she saw made her eyes widen. "Cris! His room's been ransacked!"

Cristina ran into the room, carrying Dorito. "What? What do you think the person was looking for?"

"Clothes, apparently." Frankie looked at the clothes strewn across the room. "I wonder why?"

~-._.-*-._.-~

Stan stared at Ponch, who was driving Jon's truck _. Why didn't he hate me? Jonathan didn't, either. Sure, I saw fear in their eyes, but not anger or hatred. Why? I would hate anyone who would do that to me._ He puzzled over the behavior Ponch and Jon had exhibited. He then remembered how Grace had not hated him, either. When he had checked up on Jon, he had found that Jon and Ponch were Christians. Now, if his son wanted to believe what he himself considered "all that pile of hullabaloo," that was fine with him. Still, he could not figure these Christians out. Here he was going out of his way to hurt them, but they would not even hold a grudge. He pondered that the whole way over to the ambassador's party. When they got there, just as Stan had planned, people thought he was Jon.

In fact, the moment they entered the building, a tall man with dark-brown hair came up to him. "Hey, Jon! I see you found Ponch!" He wore a white dress shirt underneath his tan suit. A pair of dark-brown dress shoes and a green tie completed the outfit.

Stan had to remind himself not to glare at the man. "Yes. He had seen a pretty girl and gone to get her number."

The man's brows furrowed. "But isn't he dating Frankie? He's not even once gone out with another girl since he met her."

Stan gave Ponch a look. He laughed nervously. Stan wanted him to cover for him. "Well, I was thinking that Jon needs a date." He beckoned the man closer. "After all, Bear," he whispered loudly, "I have the best girl in the world! Jon can't have mine, but he should have the second-best girl in the world!"

The man, presumably named "Bear," laughed.

Stan knew Ponch could tell Bear at any time, so he snapped his fingers. "Wait! Shouldn't you tell his friends? I'm sure they'll want to know he's safe!"

Ponch nodded warily. "Well, don't forget to tell Getraer you have a secret in your pocket."

Again an expression of confusion flitted across his face. "Sure."

Stan had not noticed, though, his attention on Ponch. Was he trying to tell that man something? When nothing suspicious showed itself, he relaxed. He watched as Bear walked away. "What were you talking about?"

Ponch waved it off. "It's a little inside joke," he lied. Immediately afterward, he felt guilty. No matter how much he tried to tell himself that it was for his own good that he had lied, he knew he had to make it right. He quickly prayed in his head and asked for forgiveness for both that lie and the one he had made about the girl he had "seen."

~-._.-*-._.-~

Bear walked to where he knew Getraer was stationed. "Sarge, I just saw Ponch."

Getraer's head whipped around. "What? Is he okay?" His light-blue eyes reflected his worry.

"He was standing by Jon, but Jon was acting weird. He . . . didn't seem like himself. Plus, he kind of looked haggard, like he'd been through a lot."

The sergeant ran a hand through his thinning brown hair. "Could it be?" he muttered. "What else did he do?" Surely Frank would've tried to get a message through.

"Well, he said something weird at the end when Jon told me to see you. He said, 'Don't forget to tell Getraer you have a secret in your pocket.' What did he mean by that?"

Getraer ordered, "Baricza, turn out your pockets."

Confused, Bear complied. His pants pockets were empty with the exception of a pen and his wallet. His shirt pocket held a tightly-folded piece of paper. "Hey, what's this? I don't remember this being here," Bear stated.

The sergeant snatched it and read it out loud. "'Help! The guy pretending to be Jon is Stan! The real Jon is being held at 142 Finn Lane by Stan Gordon's partner! Hurry! ~Ponch.' This is Frank's handwriting, all right." His eyes widened as he realized what that was saying. "Bear, get Bonnie and Grossie! We need to nab this guy."

Officer Baricza nodded and set off. He had been put there as a plainclothes policeman in light of all that had happened with Ponch's kidnapping. Getraer began to pray again.

~-._.-*-._.-~

As Stan and Ponch walked along, at least three different people came up to greet the, and exchange pleasantries. It seemed Jon and Ponch were quite popular. Already, four people, only two of them CHP officers, had come up to talk to Stan. He had nodded politely and tried his best to get them to leave quickly. His sights were set on the Peruvian jewel. His plan was to wait until no one else was looking, possibly using Ponch as a distraction, and then to steal it. He would wait for the perfect moment, though. He had observed that two different officers would relieve the current guards every hour on the hour, so he would just have to wait his turn. He checked his watch. There were only about twenty minutes left until the next switch. As for how he would bide his time, he was sure he would figure something out.

A young lady passed by, carrying a tray of snickerdoodles, Stan's favorite. He snagged one. "So," he whispered to Ponch, "why do you do it?"

Ponch cocked his head, confused. "Do what?"

"You know, act like you do. I hate you. I go out of my way to hurt you. Why don't you hate me back?" His voice sounded hard, but Ponch knew there was a hint of genuine confusion.

"Because Jesus loves you."


	8. Chapter 8

_I am so sorry for not getting this chapter out earlier! I've had plenty of things vying for my attention lately. Still, that is no excuse. I hope you enjoy this! I'll try to finish the next chapter really soon! By the way, this is the most important chapter in this whole story._

 _"CHiPs" and it's characters do not belong to me. Stan and Ryan belong to the lovely Ponchygirl, from whom I've been given permission to use them. :3 I praise the Lord for His awesome help in allowing me to crank this story out and get it written down in mostly one day! :D_

* * *

"But the Way of the Ungodly Shall Perish"

Chapter 8

Stan stood there for a few seconds, his mind going back years. He remembered Grace saying those exact words to him. He knew he had not been a good husband to her. It had been during what he used to call their "disagreements" when he had first heard it.

"You're being unreasonable, Stan! We can't get rid of our child!" Grace had firmly stated.

Stan's anger had led him to do things then of which he was not proud even to this day. Still, he remembered vividly what her response had been when, hours after their fight, he asked her why she had come back.

"It's because I love you, Stan . . . and Jesus loves you." Her eyes had shone with unshed tears. "Because He loves you, I love you." Many times that she mentioned this Jesus, she would begin to tell him what He had done for her. That was when Stan would shut her out and either tell her to "button her lip" or storm out of the building. He had only listened to her fully speak on the subject once or twice.

This time, Stan decided to leave again. "I refuse to hear anyone speak of this . . . this God of yours!" When he turned towards his exit, his walkie talkie fell out of his pocket. He was so mad that he did not even notice it.

~-._.-*-._.-~

Ponch watched as Stan stormed out of the room. "Lord, help him, please! He keeps running from You! He needs You so much!" He sighed. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bear. He called him over to stand by him. "I need you to pray for Jon's father. He isn't saved."

Bear nodded immediately. "Definitely!"

The two of the began to pray fervently. Getraer heard them and joined.

~-._.-*-._.-~

Stan walked for hours. He did not care where he ended up, so long as it was not near those weirdos. He bumped into an older man sometime later.  
The gentleman's thick white hair was cut close to his head. His hazel eyes twinkled with joy from behind his glasses. At just over six feet, he was very tall. The wrinkles on his face crinkled when he smiled. "Why, what are you doing here, sonny?"

Stan sighed. He was out of breath and no longer could no longer submit to his desire to flee. The guilt was pressed on him, beseeching him to repent. I have to tell someone, he thought. _I have to get this off my chest!_ "Well . . . Do you promise not to tell anyone?" When the old man nodded, Stan poured out his story. He left the incriminating details out, like how he had kidnapped and stolen, among other things. Instead, he referred to this things as mere "acting wrongly" to his son and his son's friends. Finally, he sighed. "I can't help but think that . . . What they say may be right." As he said those words, he realized they were true. "After all I've done, how can they still be kind to me?" He shook his head in disbelief.

The old man's eyes said that he knew the answer. He opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by Stan.

"No! If you're going to tell be about that Jesus, don't bother!" He paused, musing. "No, wait. Tell me then. It seems I can't escape it. Why are they all so kind? Why do they act like they love me, knowing who I am?"

The gentleman smiled. "Let me tell you about how Jesus changed my life. I was once a thief and a pickpocket. I was a foul-mouthed one, too. The last thing on my mind was God. If anything, I had decided I was an atheist. After all, I had ended up on the streets when I was eleven. My mom was dead and my father had walked out on us years ago. Why should I believe in God? My sister was . . . She had gotten 'saved,' years before, she said. She took me to church with her one Sunday. I hated it! All that talk about One Who cared was awful, I thought. To please her, though, I joined her. There was something in me that wondered how she could be so happy when we were living in an alley on two cardboard boxes that made me curious, I guess. All the other 'Christians' I'd seen acted like I was worse than the scum on their shoes. Yet, my sister didn't. I thought that it might be because we were family, no matter how much that word had meant to our father. Then I saw her act the same toward another street urchin. She gave him the raggedy coat she had and shivered the whole night.

"'There must be something good about her,' I thought. 'She's had just as much opportunity to get bitter as I have, but she hasn't done it.' I'd even heard her singing! Then a lady found us and took us in. I decided that she only I'd that to make her feel less guilty about something, so it would only last two days at the most. . . Three days later, she still took care of us. She told us of her God. It was then that I began to see that she was the real deal. I wanted to be like that. I asked Jesus to save me and forgive me right then."

Stan looked at him with true curiosity and a glimmer of hope. "Save you?"

"Without God, I would be as horrible now as I was then. You see, the Bible tells us in Romans 3:23, 'For all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God.' Sin is anything we do that's wrong. It displeases God. I didn't have to convince myself of that. It was something I knew all too well. The first part of Romans 6:23 says, 'For the wages of sin is death.' 'Wages' refers to what you get payed for something, as you know. Because we've sinned, we deserve our payment or punishment of death. The second part of that voice is 'but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.' Romans 5:8 tell us how. It says, 'But God commendeth his love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us'! Someone had to die for our sins. Jesus died so we wouldn't have to! He was crucified, which is the most agonizing death. Three days later, He came back from the dead! Matthew 28: 5-6 says, 'And the angel answered and said unto the women, Fear not ye: for I know that ye seek Jesus, which was crucified. He is not here: for he is risen, as he said. Come, see the place where the Lord lay.'"

"My favorite verse is Romans 10:13, but I have to tell you verses 9 and 10 first. 'That if thou shalt confess with thy mouth the Lord Jesus, and shalt believe in thine heart that God hath raised him from the dead, thou shalt be saved. For with the heart man believeth unto righteousness; and with the mouth confession is made unto salvation."'God promises to save you if you repent and ask Him to! Romans 10:13 gives assurance of that! 'For whosoever shall call upon the name of the Lord shall be saved'!

Stan stood there, shocked. _God . . . really does love me?_ He could feel the guilt of all he had done pressing on him. _Can I really be free of this?_ In a moment, he made his decision. "I . . . I want to be saved!"

The older man grinned. "That is great! Just pray and ask Jesus to forgive you and save you!"

Stan bowed his head. "God, I'm a horrible sinner! I was a terrible husband, left my family, stole, lied, kidnapped, and even killed. I am wicked. Please forgive me! I know I don't deserve it. But . . . please come into my heart and save me! In Jesus' name, Amen." When he looked up, there were tears in his eyes. His features were peaceful, though. He whispered, "Thank you for telling me this!"

"You're welcome. Praise the Lord!" The bespectacled man hugged him. "There is one more verse I need to show you. It's Hebrews 13:5. "For he hath said, I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee.' Once you get saved, you cannot lose your salvation. There is no way for you to be saved today and then not be saved tomorrow. You should also look up Psalm 103:12 sometime."

Stan took a deep breath happily. "I will! Thank you again!"

"It was God who saved you. I just pointed you to Him." He smiled again and then left.

Stan looked to the sky. "Yes," he said quietly. "Thank you, God!"

~-._.-*-._.-~

It seemed to Jon like hours had passed. Perhaps they had. Either way, he was stuck there. _I want you to know I'm doing this for you, Ponch,_ he thought ruefully. He chanced a glance at his captor.

Ryan sat there, hand on his chin thoughtfully. He might be contemplating the lack of communication with his partner. For all Jon knew, he was thinking about what to eat for his next meal. Then Ryan shifted and moved to look at Jon.

Immediately, Jon stayed still, like he had woken up and was very tired. He yawned and let his head fall down again to continue his charade of sleeping.  
Ryan chuckled. Then his gaze landed on the walkie-talkie, his only means of transportation. He let out a string of foul words. "What could be happenin'? He was s'posed t' check in with me fifteen minutes ago! Slick!" The last word was more of a roar, born out of rage and a bit of worry. A part of him thought that maybe his partner had skipped town with what they had worked together to steal and left him, while another how to told him that his partner would never do that. When he heard the walkie-talkie crackle to life, he lifted his head. _That must be 'im!_ he thought. "Slick?"

However, the voice he heard definitely did not belong his partner. "Um, hi?"


	9. Chapter 9

_Hi! Sorry for taking so long with this chapter! By the way, I'm not done with this story yet! There's still at least an epilogue. :3 I'm posting this before I go to church, so I'll have to go on and fix the errors form the last chapter after it. Stan and Ryan belong to Ponchygirl and are used with her permission. Enjoy! Soli Deo Gloria! :D_

* * *

"What're you doin' with the walkie-talkie?" the voice on the device shouted. "Where's Sta-Slick?! If you've double-crossed us, I'll pound y' so har-"

Ponch bit his lip. He had to proceed with caution. "Look, I can't help you there. I just . . ." His mind raced. _What to say . . . What to say? Think fast, Ponch, or else Jon's toast!_ He snapped his fingers. _That's it! I've got to stall him! But with what? . . . When in doubt, tell the truth._ Ponch quickly prayed for God's help and said, "I don't know where he is! He just took off! Look, Jon and I fulfilled our part of the deal. We helped you. Let us go!"

Ryan scoffed, "Not a chance. Now that Stan's run off with 'is tail 'tween 'is legs, I'll need some insurance that I ain't goin' t' get 'rrested. . . Stan and I's partners. I seem to find myself without a partner. It won't in the plan, but surely his son wouldn't object to carryin' on the family business, eh?" At Ponch's gasp of horror, he continued. "Don't worry, boy. I'd not leave you all 'lone. Stan's kid'll need someone t' keep him company. Can y' dig it?"

"We'd never do that! It's 'aiding and abetting' the criminal! That would make us accomplices to the crime! . . . Well, no more than before, but still!" Ponch's eyes were huge. How could he and his partner get out of this one?

Ryan chuckled. "Oh, you will . . . if you want Jon to live to see tomorrow."

~-._.-*-._.-~

Jon's eyes widened. He had to do something! He would throw safety to the wind if he had to. While Ryan was distracted, Jon slowly stood. He had worked on undoing his bonds since Stan and Ponch had departed and had succeeded in his attempt about thirty minutes prior. Should he try to knock Ryan out and leave? Should he grab the walkie-talkie and signal Ponch? Whatever he decided, he would have to do it fast! He slowly made for Ryan.

The criminal was chuckling evilly. _How cliché can you get?_ Jon mused. Ryan pressed the send button on the walkie-talkie and queried, "So, what's your answer, boy? Are y' in or no-" He grunted in surprise as Jon tried to cover his mouth with his hand. He very colorfully stated where he believed would be the destination of Jon's soul after he died, and that Ryan would not mind too terribly if the young man went there at that present moment in time.

Jon grabbed the hand-held device and yelled, "Ponch, don't do it!"

"Jon?! Hold him off! I'll come save you!" Ponch's voice held alarm.

Jon shook his head and immediately regretted it. He then tried to ignore its pounding. He was in no condition to "hold off" Ryan. Because his captors had wanted to ensure his usefulness both as a hostage and as assurance that Ponch would not break off their deal, they had been rougher on Jon than they had been on his partner. Jon was reasonably certain that at least one of his ribs was bruised if not broken. They had also twisted his arm, somehow.

Ryan growled and clapped a huge hand onto Jon's head. "Ain't nobody does that t' me and gets away wi' it!" His scowl was almost as menacing as his fists. He raised one of them to attack.

~-._.-*-._.-~

As Stan meandered though the empty streets of the neighborhood, he pondered all that had occurred within the past two hours. He had been forgiven of all his sins and accepted Jesus as his Savior. He felt like climbing up to a roof and then shouting it from there! His son and the other nice CHiP he had kidnapped needed to know! Ryan needed to know! Stan then faltered in his joyous walk. _Jonathan is still with Ryan! I can't leave him there! Who knows how much more he'll get hurt. I know from experience that Ryan can be a bit violent when he's mad._ He ran to the nearest payphone and rang up 911. "Hello? I'd like to report a kidnapping. My son, Jon, was kidnapped and is being held at 142 Finn Lane. Thank you." _So, they've already sent a squad car. I'd better get over there and see if I can help!_ He began to run to the hideout he had shared with Ryan.

~-._.-*-._.-~

"Turn right here," Bonnie ordered.

Grossie complied. "142 Finn Lane, right? We're almost there."

Bonnie smiled slightly and stated, "Now left!"

Bear had told them where to go and what to expect. They could not feasibly search the premises without a warrant. Still, maybe they would find probable cause to enter. As they approached the house, they saw a familiar figure come around the corner. The man looked like Jon, but older. Grossie parked the car. He whispered, "I believe that is Stan Gordon, the man Getraer briefed us about."

Bonnie debated how this would affect their plan and said, "I can distract him while you go rescue Jon." She cut off Grossie's cry of protest with a look. "Jon is in there. We need to get him out. I can run faster than you can, so I should be the distraction. If Stan goes after me, I can try to escape and lead him on a wild goose chase."

Grossman nodded. "Touché. Okay, we'll go on the count of three. . . One. . . Two. . . Three!" In that instant, he exited though his car door and skulked into the bushes.

Bonnie pulled out a pair of handcuffs and stuffed them in her pocket. When she left the car, she hailed Stan over. "Returning to the scene of the crime?" She barely contained her anger.

Stan seemed to be surprised. "I came to help you. There is a key behind the shingles on the right window. Do you want to use me as bait to draw Ryan out of the house? He thinks I'm coming back."

"What are you talking about? Do you really expect me to believe that you're on the side of the law?"

Stan hung his head. "I'm sorry. I'm turning myself in for my crimes. Still, I'd like to help get my son out of Ryan's clutches."

Bonnie stared at him, seemingly weighing the veracity of his words. Finally, she decided that he appeared sincere. _Besides, I've still got my handcuffs in case anything goes wrong._ She nodded. "Okay."

~-._.-*-._.-~

It took everything in Ponch not to speed as he made his way for the hideout. He would rescue Jon, even if it meant losing his own life in the process. Jon had been a fantastic and loyal friend to him. Ponch would not give up now, no matter what happened. As he turned left, he noticed a squad car already parked in the driveway. "Did they send someone?" he muttered to himself. "I hope they've saved Jon from Ryan!" He parked his motorcycle. "I have to help Jon!" Ponch raced to the door. He found, to his surprise, that Bonnie and Stan were crouched not one foot away from the door. Grossie was unlocking it. When Bonnie saw him, she motioned for him to stay low.

Stan lifted his head. "Shall I go in now?"

Grossie cocked his head. "Since Ponch is here, we can head around back and surround him." He looked at Ponch to gain his assent.

Ponch nodded. He trod as quietly as possible to the back door. He whisper-yelled, "Now what? Jon's in there! Are we really leaving Bonnie with that criminal? He could double-cross her!"

Grossie sagely stated, "I don't trust him as much as I can throw him, but I _do_ trust Bonnie. She says that she thinks he's telling the truth."

Ponch shrugged. "Okay, then. So, what do we do?"

"We wait for Stan to go inside and try to trick Ryan into leaving."

~-._.-*-._.-~

Jon held his aching head with his strained hand. He was positive now that he had a broken arm from attempting to block Ryan's blows. He had reflexively jerked back from the fist flying at him and had hit his head on the wall. By God's grace, Ryan had ceased attacking him after a few minutes. Jon was just beginning to contemplate whether or not he had a concussion when the door to the house opened.

Stan came in and stood in the doorway. "Ryan, I need your help."

The thug turned to him, eyes blazing. "Y' left me!" he roared. "We was in it t'gether and y' had to go and leave me!"

"What did you expect me to do? They believed me for a while, but were getting suspicious. They could practically see through my bluffs about being Jon. How was I supposed to know that officer," he spat believably, "had a girlfriend. As his best friend, I obviously had to know these things."

Ryan scowled and glared at Stan menacingly. He ran toward the conman, intent on "beatin' the fire," as he commonly called it him. However, he had not taken four paces before he heard something behind him. He pivoted to see Two policemen, one of them being Ponch, behind him. Ponch was examining Jon for injuries. The other held out handcuffs. Before Ryan could react, the officer snapped the handcuffs on his wrists.

"You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. If you give up this right . . ." the officer started to say.

Ryan clenched his fists and growled.

Ponch paid no attention to the scene. "Jon, are you okay?"

Jon smiled weakly. "I'll be fine, Ponch. Thanks for coming."


End file.
